


you made me a believer

by MrsRen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Jealousy, Mutual Masturbation, Veela Draco Malfoy, eighth year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24798784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRen/pseuds/MrsRen
Summary: The curve that comes to his mouth is wicked and perhaps a little vicious, and Hermione's never wanted to cross a boundary by kissing him more.And so, she takes the plunge before she can lose the nerve, all while knowing there is absolutely no coming back from it.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 96
Kudos: 565





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MidnightValkyrie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightValkyrie/gifts).



**For Jamie. I enjoy our friendship and constant messages so much and creating fic club has been such a joy to do.**

**Drabble/Oneshot inspired by the mutual masturbation scene in The Fallout, which we're doing a summer reading of in Fic Club on Discord. Come join us! Bless the fandom for ever getting to read everythursday's works. It's killer. More notes at the end.**

_First things first_

_I'mma say all the words inside my head_

_Believer - Imagine Dragons_

* * *

"I thought you said..." Hermione swallows, but her throat is dry, and she thinks it has everything to do with the way his eyes have narrowed and darkened all in the same moment. "I thought you said that occasional contact was enough."

There's a tick in his jaw, and his hands are shoved deep into his pockets, and Hermione wonders if now is the time to tell him that clenching his jaw so hard, _so often_ , will be bad for his teeth long-term.

"It was." Draco takes a step forward, his shoulders tense, and she has to realise how broad they are, but she knows it's due to Veela genes he's apparently inherited over the summer, and for some reason that has everything to do with _her._

They have an arrangement, and it's not how she expected her final year at Hogwarts to go—being near him so frequently to keep the Veela at bay—but she's never complained. It probably means something because everything means something.

"It was enough," Draco bites out, cheeks flushed in anger, and his eyes are drifting down the length of her body again, positively predatory, "until you decided to go on a bloody _date_."

She blinks. Once, twice, and he's still staring at her, still waiting on a response, but she's just so _confused_ that she really doesn't know what to say. "A date?"

"I realize you've not gone on many, but surely you know the concept." His sneer and the curl to his lip comes as no surprise given who she's always known him as, and Hermione's witnessed his possessiveness firsthand when they had nearly been caught in a stairwell that night—not doing anything but standing too close together for _contact—_ by Michael Corner who had been looking for her.

Corner.

"Please tell me you're not talking about Hogsmeade." His cheeks grow pink, and while Malfoy doesn't nod, the realisation clicks into place. "Malfoy, in case it's escaped your notice, he's the head boy. As head girl, I work with him often."

He says nothing, just maintains the surly look about him.

"We were patrolling Hogsmeade tonight. It wasn't a date."

His hands curl into fists in his pockets, and she can see it through the fabric of his trousers. "I saw the mistletoe, Granger. I know that your being exclusive to _me_ ," just the tone behind the words sends a quick shiver down her spine "was never discussed, but I wanted to—to..."

Hermione clears her throat and forces her hands to stop shaking. "I see. I'm assuming you only saw the moment where Corner kissed me, so you didn't see Dean egging it on in order to help him, and you certainly didn't see me push him away. It wasn't a date, and I didn't want to kiss him."

It feels like the right thing to say, that she didn't want it, but it's seemingly the wrong thing too because his eyes shift from predatory to angry and she traces the inside of his wrist with the tip of her finger before he can leave.

"You didn't want it." It's a croak that leaves his throat, all anger torn into bits as if it hurts him to say it. "I'm going to—"

"Stay with me." Hermione slides her fingers through the spaces between his and steps closer in the same moment she angles herself toward him. "You're going to just stay with me."

Very rarely does she see him falter, but he does then with his eyes blowing wide while he glances down at her as though she's the only thing in a room full of people.

But they're alone and the feeling is reverent, especially when he squeezes her hand.

"He left me alone after," she whispers to hopefully smooth it over. "You don't need to rush off to do… whatever it is you planned to do."

"Rip his head from his shoulders," he murmurs, and his voice shouldn't be so soft when he's making a terrible threat, but it is and she's dizzy. A finger curls under her chin and lifts her head. Pretty grey eyes peer down at her, and she has to wonder if he can hear her heartbeat.

It's a moment, one that she's going to play over and over again later in the comfort and warmth of her own bed, but she lets it go. "You said simple contact wasn't enough."

He must know that she's stiffened, her posture uncomfortably straight, and he trails his fingers down the curve of her spine until her breathing is erratic but her shoulders slump. "Yes, I'm afraid a quick hug won't do the trick this time, Granger."

She fights back the urge to point out that none of their hugs have been short at all. If she does, he'll have the chance to point out that she never pulls away first either and he's the only one with a reason to lose track of time in the warmth of her.

Hermione knows because it's actually an argument they've had before.

Still tracing the inside of his wrist, she's perfectly still while Draco explores her body with no more than a few fingers.

"What do I need to do?"

He chuckles, and his fingers pause over the bow of her lips. He traces the soft plush of her mouth, trapping her bottom lip between his thumb and index finger while he tugs it down softly. "Now that I've seen another man try to take you for himself, all I truly want to do is bury myself in you until I'm satisfied that you're mine."

The possessiveness borders on archaic, and it's another conversation they've had before. He agrees with her, even, but this is not only Draco speaking to her, she knows.

Hermione has wondered what she would do in this situation if it were to come up. She's not a virgin—not that it was a particularly important fact to her even when she had been—and it's only sex. Perhaps it had taken her quite a while to get to the point of thinking of sex as _only sex,_ but she's curious and that's such a dangerous thing to be while standing in front of a man who looks like he wants to devour her.

"I won't do that." It surprises her, and he must notice because he says next, "I'm practically delirious right now, Granger. Imagining what you'd look like if I sealed a bond with you with my cock buried all the way inside you and your head tipped back while you whimper and lock your legs around me—" Draco's voice cuts off suddenly, and he forces down a swallow while staring back at her. "I don't think I could control myself."

She wants to say that's responsible, that she appreciates the forethought, but in no uncertain terms is that what comes out of her fucking mouth. "It sounds like you've thought about this often." Her voice is lower than she's ever heard it, her mouth drier than before, and Hermione realizes all at once that while she'd thought she knew how he affected her, she'd really had no idea at all.

The curve that comes to his mouth is wicked and perhaps a little vicious, and Hermione's never wanted to cross a boundary by kissing him more.

And so, she takes the plunge before she can lose the nerve, all while knowing there is absolutely no coming back from it.

"I've thought about it too."

His fingers, now all the way down her sides, freeze at her hips and he grips them tightly as he pulls her forward. Draco's lips are barely a breath away, and she momentarily forgets to take a breath. "Have you?"

The classroom suddenly feels much smaller than it had before. Hermione nods, her heart seconds from pounding out of her chest.

He walks her backward until the backs of her knees meet the edge of the professor's desk, but in the moment, she can't remember which professor it belongs to. Fingers still curved around her hips as if that's where they belong, as if this is a move they've done so many time before and will do a hundred more, Draco's breath is heavy and flat against her ear when he leans down, strands of her hair moving with it.

"I did ask you a question."

Her voice is in her throat, trapped because when he'd ripped her out of the corridor into what she now knew very well as Professor Flitwick's classroom, this had not been what she expected.

"I have—" Her voice still raw and her mind still spinning as he brings her to an edge she didn't know existed by the heat barely radiating through the soft knit of her top. "I've thought about it—a few times." The admission is soft, but it threatens to swallow her whole as his hips press to hers and it's _hard_ and she's about to spiral.

"When did that start?"

"The first time?" She says it just to buy a few seconds, but it's clear that he'd wait much longer just to get the answer. "The night you told me I was your mate." It's a breath pushed free of her lungs, and the truth isn't as heavy on her once it's out in the open.

That night is so long ago now, back in the middle of October, and she recalls vividly pushing her fingers beneath the elastic band of her knickers and running the pads of her fingers over her slit.

Apparently just like him, she'd wondered what it would be like.

"Once I read about Veelas, I was only naturally curious."

"And _naturally,_ you read about it."

She can hear the laughter in his voice, and Hermione can't help but smile too. "I like to be well-informed, but it seems we're still at an impasse. I'm fairly certain if we leave this room, you'll surely snarl at any boy who chances a look at me, which is completely unreasonable, but I've come to realize Veelas are unreasonable."

He purrs when she reaches up to comb her fingers through his hair, curious as to what it would feel like against her skin. The hardness of him presses against her, and Hermione swallows the fact that it's not only, well, a singular part of him that's so much harder than her; it's everything. From his abdomen—where she touches because she can't curb the want—to the lines that form his chest—her fingers drift upward—and finally to the broad shoulders that have certainly never been here before.

If they had, she would have remembered.

The fact that each wandering touch of hers is only strengthening the fact that he's going to eviscerate anyone who looks at her doesn't stop her though, and Merlin help her if he even gets sight on Corner.

She has to do something, but all Hermione really wants to do is peel his robes backwards from his shoulders and then his oxford while unbuttoning it with shaking fingers, so she can feel him properly.

"What can I do to help?"

"Show me how you touch yourself," he whispers into her ear, his teeth catching the top of her earlobe, and Malfoy's tongue flicks across it before he blows a shallow breath.

Hermione shivers, and her fingers, now hovering over his shoulders, dig into the muscle there, and she doesn't say anything at all.

"Please, Granger."

By the time she's nodded—and she doesn't know how her head made up its mind before she had any say in the matter—Draco has lifted her onto the table and is resting in the cradle of her thighs, his face so _close_ to hers. "You know," she begins, and sure, she might be playing coy when she bats her lashes, but she doesn't think he minds, "being so close, it's not conducive to what you're wanting me to do."

When he throws his head back and laughs outright, it sends shivers unfurling down her spine, and she scoots closer to him with her skirt riding up her thighs. Draco notices. " _Conducive,"_ he mutters under his breath as if he can't believe this, _her_ , but of course he believes it, and then he drops into the chair.

The chair where their professor has marked their exams and essays while they sat in class; Hermione will never be able to focus in this room again.

Just as she thinks she can't do this, not even close, his voice is quiet in the room. "Slide back onto the desk, sweetheart."

She's not one for pet names; she never has been, but it's different in his voice when it's deliciously ragged.

So she does as he says and finds that maybe— _probably—_ she likes it far more than she would have previously believed.

He must realise it, or perhaps Draco's just naturally dominant—which she can believe—because he asks her to part her legs. Coiled tightly with his nails biting into the armrest of the chair he's taken for himself, Draco watches her carefully as she slides backwards, spreading her legs and flattening the soles of her shoes against the desk.

Hermione slowly slips out of her panties, suddenly thankful for her skirt as it makes it easier and finally, she's bared to him. It's enthralling, the way his eyes widen and the way his tongue slides against the seam of his lips. It strikes her then that where she expects to feel like the one out of control, that isn't the case at all.

This time, she doesn't wait for instruction before touching herself, and her hips push forward without a second thought from her when the soft pads of her fingers rub gently over her clit.

"Sweet fucking God," he groans.

When she slides one finger into herself, hair falls in her face and it hides a smirk when a hiss slips between his teeth. "Is this what you imagined too?"

"I think of sliding to my knees for you and pulling your legs over my shoulders while I bring you off with my tongue." He says, and it's so matter-of-fact, as if there couldn't be another answer, that she whimpers. "I think of that in our classes."

Another slide of her fingers, and then they move down to slide into her slick folds. One and then two, as slowly as possible just to see what it makes him do.

"Fuck yourself with your fingers for me."

"I will if you tell me what else you've thought of." Her fingers curl, and she whimpers at the pleasure, her hips lifting up. Touching herself has never been like this. Hermione's almost too focused to notice the way he adjusts himself, but she does, and it has to be the most brazen thing she's ever said in her life. "Will you do the same?"

He blinks, not understanding.

"As me." It's not much clarification, but her cheeks are burning and she can't. "Please."

Draco looks like he might ask her if she's sure, but he doesn't, and she's glad. "I've imagined how you would look under me," he says as he unzips his trousers, wasting no time. His cock is in his hand, harder and thicker, and the thoughts that enter her mind are not the sorts of thoughts she thinks she's supposed to have. "While I press my thumb to your clit and slide into you. I've wondered what sounds you would make. If you would moan or whimper or if you would cry out so anyone could hear you."

The most terrifying thing of all is that Hermione _doesn't_ know any of those things, but she thinks she wants to find out.

She wants to know what it feels like to have his hands touching her rather than her own, even more so when he shrugs out of his shirt as well.

"I think about you on your knees, swallowing my cock greedily as I pull your hair and wrap your curls around my knuckles." His thumb swipes the head of his cock, and Hermione wants to do exactly as he says and take him until it makes her eyes water.

Maybe one day, she'll get the nerve to say that out dloud.

"Shall I keep going?" A familiar smirk is on his face, and she doesn't know how he can manage it when he doesn't look put together at all.

She nods, fingers thrusting into her cunt faster, harder and then, Hermione bites her lower lip hard.

"You're always in the same spot in the library, did you know that?" She does. He always finds her. "Not that it matters, but I've imagined joining you and coaxing you to sit in my lap. It would be so easy to push your skirt up and pull your knickers to the side."

She whimpers loudly, his name on her lips, and Hermione doesn't tear her eyes away from him as he strokes his cock, his gaze never leaving her.

"You'd whisper that we have to be quiet and dig your fingers into my shoulders while sliding down my cock. I'd tell you how you feel so bloody good when you take my cock and that you're such a good fucking girl—"

" _Oh!"_ Hermione very nearly comes over her fingers, and her heart is pounding.

"Like that, do you?" Where she expects jest, there is none, and she manages the weakest nod she can. "You're a very good girl, spreading your thighs and playing with your cunt like this just for me, just because I asked," he tells her, and the sound of his voice might make her come all on its own. "Are you going to come for me, sweetheart? All over your fingers?"

"Yes. God, _yes,"_ She's babbling, but she really isn't of the mind to care.

There's a strangled sound that comes from his throat, and she knows that he must be just as close as she is, and that information _alone_ could make her come undone like nothing else. "Come for me the like a good little girl. Come on your professor's fucking desk while you let me see your pretty, sweet cunt—"

She doesn't mean to cry out so loudly. God, she doesn't, but she does and it's his name, and Hermione's such a fucking mess.

Hermione even more of a mess hearing him groan her name immediately afterwards, and she doesn't pull her eyes away as he comes, drops hitting his chest.

Still deliciously out of her mind, she pushes off the desk and slides to her knees in front of him. Draco's eyes widen when she asks, "You mentioned fucking my mouth. Would you fill my mouth?" Too afraid to lose her nerve as she comes down from the high, Hermione leans forward and licks the come off his stomach, her tongue tracing the hard lines as she watches him.

As promised, Draco's fingers find her hair, but he's gentler than she thinks he would have been moments earlier. "Bloody hell, you're going to be the death of me."

"Do you really think so?" Another lick, and then she sits back on her knees, her cunt slick, and she doesn't even try to hide the way she rubs her legs together, desperate for friction.

Hermione wants more, but she can tell it's not going to happen tonight. Her words ring in her ears, and she agrees, even as much as she wants to climb into his lap and sink down on him.

Draco leans down quickly to grip her chin and cover her lips with his, and his hand slips under her skirt, finding her sore clit as he touches her so gently that she thinks she could be imagining the whole thing.

She realises at once as he walks her back toward Gryffindor tower that their relationship will be irrevocably changed, and she doesn't mind, but she isn't sure where it leaves them.

But he reveals that he'd had the forethought to grab her knickers from the classroom floor and that he isn't going to give them back just before pressing her to the wall right of the portrait. A He kisses her until she can't breathe, his fingers under her skirt again.

And she doesn't think she'll mind exploring where this change leads them.

* * *

 **Hiatus has been good to me, and while it's not over and I'm not quite prepared to start regularly posting WIPs, this happened and I really, really enjoyed it. I've left it open because I have a want to continue it. I don't have a plot because this is just for fun. Normally, I don't like when writers ask what readers what to see,** _ **but**_ **I would like to ask exactly that. This is a guilty pleasure for me, and I thrive on prompts, but like things related to this oneshot. Anyway, it can stand on its own, but it probably won't.**

**As always, I'd be nowhere without my friends and I'm especially grateful for Elle Morgan-Black, mcal, and LuxLouise for pre-reading. NuclearNik is a killer beta (all mistakes remaining are my own) and if you don't know her, you're missing out.**

**xMrsRen**


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. This story will be sporadically updated as it’s more of a palette cleanser for me for writing, and a good time fic when I feel like writing dramione. I’ve loosely sketched out the next few chapters, and this chapter is more plot, so no smut this time. There is a flashback scene of sorts in this chapter, which I hope is easy to read. 
> 
> I didn’t send this to a beta, so all mistakes are my own. If you happen to notice any embarrassing ones, feel free to PM me privately on FFN or on tumblr.

**Hello again. This story will be sporadically updated as it’s more of a palette cleanser for me for writing, and a good time fic when I feel like writing dramione. I’ve loosely sketched out the next few chapters, and this chapter is more plot, so no smut this time. There is a flashback scene of sorts in this chapter, which I hope is easy to read.**

**I didn’t send this to a beta, so all mistakes are my own. If you happen to notice any embarrassing ones, feel free to PM me privately on FFN or on tumblr.**

* * *

The shift between them isn’t noticeable, Hermione doesn’t think. Or maybe it’s only because both Harry and Ron will never expect it, so the choose not to see it or perhaps, they don’t care to notice the change in her. Either way, it doesn’t really matter because  _ she  _ feels the difference—down to her bones and the very atoms that comprise her being, and no matter how hard she tries, Hermione can’t keep her heart from thumping out of rhythm when white blond enters her vision.

Her best attempts never work and he’s always there, likely due to the Veela genes that caused them to gravitate so closely together in the first place. The pointed thought brings her to another thought, and it’s one that she’d rather avoid, but her brain runs on facts, even when they’re the ones that she doesn’t like.

If it weren’t for Malfoy’s learning he was a Veela over the summer, this— _ them _ —would have never happened. It upsets her to know that if it weren’t for this, that there would have never been a single shared moment. To not know how warm he is, the smell of what he promised her was rather expensive cologne, and well, to  _ not _ know how it felt to hug him feels like a loss. She’s sure of that now, but what’s worse? Never knowing or knowing your feeling are forced to be reciprocated?

That’s what this is, no matter how heavily he effects her because Hermione knows that he’s always had the power to do that. Memories of a classroom aside, which she thinks of more than she should, Malfoy’s forced to want her by genetics.

It’s too easy to tangle herself up in various thoughts of the same vein, and before she knows it, Hermione’s made an anxious mess out of a situation that had been perfectly fine until it’s unrecognizable.

* * *

Avoiding him is not a simple task.

He knows all of her hiding places now. From the library to a spot outside under a tree that she’s liked for years to the room used for prefects meetings—Draco Malfoy knows them all. Probably as well as he knows her, but she pushes that thought away too.

Mandated by his probation by the British Ministry, part of his re-acceptance into Hogwarts is that he must perform the duties of a seventh year prefect. On paper, it says that it’s to hold him accountable to his education with the intent to provide a path to smoothing relationships with other houses.

It’s a scapegoat.

_ Here,  _ a hand extends, dumping Malfoy onto his feet with ceremony, without an ounce of kindness.  _ Here is a boy you can blame. _

But the war is not his fault. It’s a convoluted path to forgiveness that Hermione is keenly aware of, and she knows that the process may have been rushed from the moment she learned she was his mate. There are things that she used to believe were impossible to forgive, but that’s not the case, not really. It’s hard to think that forgiveness is the best thing she can do.

That’s because it’s not always the case. It’s never been the one answer, and she doesn’t think it ever will be.

It’s a Saturday at the end of September when she learns the truth.

* * *

**September 28th, 1998**

Sometimes, when she feels the string in her chest that ties them together tug, Hermione follows it bit by bit. Just like he knows her, Hermione knows all of his hiding spots as well.

Hiding spots can tell a lot about a person.

It’s one night that she discovers him after following what she’s only called a gut instinct up to then, but now she knows it’s what witches and wizards call fate. In research, she learns that if she could make it corporal, it would be red, and that’s a legend on its own, and maybe— _ maybe _ —one day she’ll share it with him since it’s muggle.

He’s in the Astronomy tower, white hair gleaming under the moonlight that makes him look ethereal, and she pauses in the doorway. Hermione’s certain she doesn’t make a sound, but he knows she there anyway and he turns to see her.

Malfoy’s lips part and they’re paler then as they flatten into a thin line. His hands curl into fists at his sides, and he exhales a breath. “Do you know why you’re here?” It’s in the way he says it, his voice low and uneven, that makes her stomach clench.

But she doesn’t know, and Hermione steps forward, letting the door fall shut behind her. “You shouldn’t stand so close to the edge.”

He’s  _ dangerously  _ close to the edge. “Do you think so?”

“ What kind of— _ Don’t!” _

Malfoy kicks one foot over the side and keeps his hands where they’re tucked into his pockets. He doesn’t reach for the railing. In fact, his features don’t change at all despite the fact that he’s steps away from falling. “Bloody hell, you’re loud.”

Before she thinks that rushing forward is the best way to spook him into moving before she can reach him, Hermione’s closed the gap between them. Soft grey eyes glance down at her, widening in interest as she curls her fingers around his shoulder and yanks him toward her. “You’ll fall, you idiot.”

He stumbles into her, his kneecap knocking against her thigh since he’s so much taller than her, and he grips her hips roughly to steady himself. “If I should be so lucky,” Malfoy snorts.

Malfoy doesn’t let go.

“ You shouldn’t say that.” Hermione steps backwards, misunderstanding the look that flashes across his face as his hands drop from her waist. “It’s not your fault.” At the time, when she says it before everything else happens, she doesn’t completely believe it yet. What she does believe, however, is that no one deserves to feel as though they should put their life in danger.

At the time, she doesn’t even think the thought makes sense yet, but it will.

“ Spare me your pitying drivel,” he snarls. “I’m not fucking interested—”

She swallows as Malfoy turns away from her. “You didn’t kill him.”

When he rips back around to face her, Malfoy stalks toward her until they’re chest to chest with him towering over her and he lowers his face to hers. “I should have.”

“ You don’t really mean that.”

“ And you would know? You don’t know a fucking  _ single  _ thing about me.”

Knowing she should leave doesn’t make her do so, and really, Hermione can’t imagine leaving after what she’s seen. “I know that you wanted to protect your family and if you regret any of what you’ve done, then you’re regretting that too.”

He blinks, and she doesn’t give him the chance to speak.

“ At Easter, you didn’t want to identify us.”

“ Look what happened to you anyway.”

_ Look what happened to you— _ not to Harry and Ron. She notices that.

“ You couldn’t have stopped that.”

In the silence that forms, she wonders if he’ll bitterly say that maybe he should have identified them, but he doesn’t. “I could have tried.”

It’s not what she expects. “No, you shouldn’t have. She’d have killed you then.”

He stares at his hands, not speaking at all.

“ Besides, I lived. Who know what would have happened if you had tried to intervene.” It’s something she can’t possibly imagine him doing, despite remembering the way she’d stared at him and wished he would.

Malfoy looks as though he wants to ask her something, but his mouth snaps shut.

“ You asked me if I knew why I was here. What did you mean?”

He squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his jaw. “You shouldn’t be here.” Up close, Hermione can see the dark circles under his eyes, and beneath the collar of his shirt, she can see where his collarbones have begun to stick out against his skin. “Granger—” He’s barely choked out her name by the time she lifts a hand to his face.

What does it mean that his breathing grows shallower when she places her palm against his forehead?

“ You’re burning up,” Hermione whispers. “Are you sick?”

Out of all the responses he can give, she doesn’t expect for him to laugh, and she doesn’t know why it sounds so miserable. “It’s something like that.” Malfoy sways on his feet, and she catches him by his elbow, not prepared for the way he rips away from her. “You need to leave.”

“ I don’t think I will.”

“ Just because it’s what I asked you to do and not Weasley or Potter—”

“ You didn’t  _ ask _ .”

“ Those are fucking semantics, Granger!”

“ Those are fucking  _ facts _ , Malfoy!” Hermione mocks, and she doesn’t mean to smile, she really doesn’t, but she does and he stops then.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and his hands are in his pockets again before he says finally, “Merlin, you drive me fucking  _ crazy _ .”

Hermione arches a brow. “Ah, yes, in the three times we’ve talked this term, I must have driven you crazy. Will you please just tell me what’s wrong with you, so—”

“ So you can what?” He growls, and it’s so low that it’s a rumble from his chest and she’s never heard that from a boy before. “What exactly is it that you think you can do?”

“ Madam Pomfrey can—”

“ If Madam Pomfrey has a cure for being a Veela, by all fucking means, let me know.” She can tell by the way his palm slaps over his mouth that he hadn’t meant to say it. “Fucking—fuck you, Granger. This is your fucking fault.”

She wants to say that there’s no need to say  _ fuck _ so many times, but Hermione imagines that if she were in his place, it would probably be the same case for her.  _ Veela _ . She’s only met Fleur, Bill’s wife, and her knowledge of Veelas was less than it was of anything else. She should probably ask how this happens, but instead, Hermione bites out, “How is this my fault?”

It’s visible, the way Malfoy falters when he stares down at her. “The reason you’re here is because I am. My magic sought you out, and coaxed you into my path.”

The strangeness of his words doesn’t escape her. The truth is in her bones before he ever voices it though, but she denies it. “I was just out for a walk.”

“ After curfew?”

“ Yes.”

“ Granger—” two fingers hook under her chin, and he tilts her head up. “It’s just me here. You don’t have to lie about it. I already know what it’s like to want to follow our—”

She blinks once and then twice before reality sets in. “It’s a string, I think.”

“ A string,” he echoes. “That’s interesting. In any case, what I’m trying to tell you is that I know all about the irritating pull of it. You’ll be pleased to learn that there’s a fairly simple way to undo it for yourself.” The cheeriness of his tone gives him away, and she knows it’s a lie.

It must be etched across her features for his brows furrow at the sight of her. “You’re being deliberately vague.”

“ Isn’t it fair, considering you’re often deliberately obtuse?”

Hermione scowls. “You’re such a prat. All I want to do is help you, you know.”

Malfoy taps two fingers against his chin, his lips curving into a smirk and he’s still glancing down at her. “Oh, you want to help me?”

“ Was that not clear the first time?”

“ Then just tilt your head to the right a bit, Granger and I’ll show you how you can bloody help me.”

Ice hardens in her veins, and Hermione is struck silent. “Do you mean to say…”

The smug look about him is back with little surprise. “What do you know about how Veelas mate? You’re such a swot, I bet you’ve read up on all the magical creatures and beings you want to save.”

She has—she does.

There’s hardly anything written about Veelas, however. All she knows has come from Fleur, who is actually overly forthcoming with the information. Hermione knows that it’s sealed with a bite, typically, and— “We would need to have sex.” It’s a miracle that she manages the words with a straight face. “It’s not just a matter of tilting my head to the side and letting you bite me.”

Blond eyebrows lift. “So, you have read up on it then.”

Hermione shakes her head. “Fleur told us. There’s hardly any information published pertaining to Veelas.”

“ Allow me to make this simple for you then,” he sneers, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Seemingly, the Veela gene runs in the Malfoy family, and it’s hardly ever been inherited, but I am lucky number  _ two _ . Veelas have one mate, Granger. For some of us, we may never find ours.”

She knows what’s coming seconds before it does, but she still doesn’t believe it.

“ I wish that were the case for me, but I’ve known the witch that would be my mate since I was eleven.”

Her ears are ringing.

“ Do you remember the first prefect meeting? Corner grabbed your hand to help you out of your chair—not that you needed it, that handsy fucking prat—and I stormed out of the room.”

Hermione’s heartbeat is in her ears.

“ Do you remember?”

A nod is not enough because he asks her again. “Yes, I remember.” Hermione croaks, her throat dry. “I wondered what was wrong with you.”

His features are harsh, cruel. “I’ve never wanted to put a bloke through a wall more in my life.”

Hermione knows, but she needs him to say it. “Why?”

There’s hardly any distance between them now. Malfoy raises his hand and reaches forward to tuck a curl behind her ear. “You’re my mate, Granger. It seems the universe is determined to ruin my life if it’s paired me with someone who will undoubtedly reject me, and then I’ll wither away until I die.”

“ _ What?”  _ Her heart has been pounding for several minutes already, but this nearly brings it to a complete stop. “You— _ what?” _

He no longer looks collected. “She didn’t tell you.”

She thinks she’s going to hyperventilate and she immediately is.

“ Granger—” He hooks an arm around her waist and guides her to the floor. “Bloody fucking hell, I thought you knew that already.”

“ I did not.” Hermione wipes her face and grounds herself before she can spiral further before she looks at him.

Malfoy’s crouched in front of her, his features panicked, and he’s reaching for her. Fingertips are cool against her cheek, and he wipes away tears that had formed too quickly for her to process.

“ Can you,” she rubs her temples. “Can you just explain that part to me?”

He chews his lower lip. “When a Veela is rejected by their mate, they will eventually die. The process isn’t short either. The stages of losing your mind are brutal if the texts in our family library are to be believed.”

Her fingers attempt to dig into the hard floor. “I’m not going to reject you.”

“ Don’t be ridiculous. You Gryffindors and your—”

“ It’s not about being Gryffindor,” Hermione cuts him off. “It’s about being human, and I am not going to be the reason you die. I refuse.”

“ Right,” he nods. “Those are the words I’m looking for, but just use them in the right context.”

Shaking her head, Hermione whispers, “No.” Then it’s her surname again and everything is so heady that she can’t think straight. “To keep the Veela satiated, what do I need to do?”

Malfoy collapses to the floor in front of her, his knees meeting the floor and he stares at her. “Please just tell me that you would never choose to be with me—”

“ Tell me what I need to do, and no, I’m not going to do what you want. I can’t.”

When he doesn’t say anything or even look at her, Hermione presses.

“ Is contact enough? Do we need to have sex?”

He buries his face in his hands. “Do you even hear yourself?”

“ Yes, I asked you if you needed to have sex with me in order to survive. It’s not as though I asked you if you wanted to.”

“ I don’t know.” He mutters. “I didn’t expect this to happen.”

Hermione considers reaching for him, if only for reassurance but she does well to keep her hands to herself. “We can figure it out.”

He’s not pleased, but he doesn’t leave her outright, and that feels like a small step in the next direction.

* * *

Slytherin plays against Gryffindor, and she thinks it’s the best Draco Malfoy has played as a Seeker in weeks. She tries not to think about whether it has anything to do with her, and an empty classroom, but she silently cheers for him. After the match, while her housemates are infuriated by the fact they had lost a match to Slytherin, she’s inwardly proud of Draco.

The Gryffindor common room is wrought with tension that night while there are arguments over where the match went wrong, over whose fault it is and the common room she occasionally shares with Michael Corner when they create schedules for the prefects isn’t where she wants to hide either.

She goes to the Astronomy tower.

Since sitting on the floor with Malfoy, she’s met him here multiple times. Call it nostalgia, but there is something cathartic about coming back to the beginning. That isn’t the case tonight as she peers over the railing, and rubs her hands up and down her arms for a semblance of warmth.

The door clicks shut shortly after and there’s the low incantation of a locking spell before he’s nearing her side. He doesn’t touch her or look at her, instead following her eyes’ path all the way down to the bottom of the tower. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Hermione nods, still rubbing her arms and sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

“ You’re incredibly bad at it.” Draco drops his cloak around her shoulders and watches her pull it tightly around herself. “If this is about what we did, it doesn’t have to happen again.”

Her head snaps up.

He’s still not looking at her, and his jaw is clenched, but she doesn’t think it has anything to do with what he’s saying to her. “I realize I may have overwhelmed you. It wasn’t entirely in the realm of my control at the time, but I should have tried.”

That isn’t what she wants.

“ I’m not upset about that.”

His shoulders deflate and he glances at her. “You’re not?”

She shakes her head. “No, that was…” Hermione combs her fingers through her hair.

At least she density have to finish the thought. He already knows and his smirk gives it away. “You are upset though.”

“ It’s silly. I’ll get over it on my own. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“ Granger,” he murmurs. The tip of his finger traces the veins in her wrist. “If you’re upset, it matters to me. Even if you tell me to not concern myself, I quite literally can’t do that.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. “Right, you’re forced to care about whether I’m upset because I’m your mate and if I’m upset that must mean you need to assault some poor unsuspecting man because of it.”

“ That depends. Was it someone else to upset you, or was it me? I would hazard a guess that it was me, Granger. You wouldn’t be avoiding be otherwise.”

There isn’t a point in denying it, Hermione knows. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“ I did something though.”

“ No.”

Fingers curl in the back of her top, and he brings her away from the edge. “Granger, I can’t do better if you don’t tell me what I’ve done wrong. The last thing I want to do is upset you, do you realize that?”

She huffs and swallows down the tears that shouldn’t fall in the first place, but she can’t  _ help _ it. “I’m your mate.”

He nods. “I’m quite aware of that.”

“ You’re required to have feelings for me, but they’re not because you  _ want _ to.”

Draco threads his fingers through hers. “Is that what this is about? You think I don’t care for you.”

“ I know you do, but it wasn’t your choice.” Casting her eyes to the floor, Hermione forces herself to pull her eyes back to him. “I hate knowing that any feelings I develop may never be reciprocated because of—”

He cradles her face in his hands and Draco lowers his head.

Hermione tightens her fingers in his shirt as his mouth slants over hers, and then his fingers are in her hair, nails scratching her scalp.

She can feel his smile when she whimpers into his mouth and she relaxes against him. When he pulls away, she mutters, “You can’t distract me by kissing me all the time.” She won’t mind if he tries it anyway, though, at least not all the time.

“ I care about you,” Draco whispers into her hair, still holding her in the curve of his body. “I have cared about you since before I told you, and I will continue to do so. Evidently, I haven’t done a fine job showing that.”

“ I wondered if I would remain a secret. We didn’t talk about it.”

He smiles, and it’s a secret smile just for her. She knows because she’s never seen it before, and it’s so genuine that all she can believe is that he’s so beautiful when he smiles. “I’ll have to amend that.”

Draco kisses her again, over and over again, until they’re both gasping and gripping each other just as tightly as the other.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on tumblr at mrsren,


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